.......James
Joyce's “Araby” is a short story centering on an Irish adolescent emerging
from boyhood fantasies into the harsh realities of everyday life in his
country. Joyce based this coming-of-age tale, which he wrote in 1905, on
his own experiences while growing up in Dublin in the late nineteenth century.
The London firm of Grant Richards Ltd. published the story in 1914 in Dubliners,
a collection of fifteen of Joyce's stories.

Background
and Setting

.......James
Joyce based "Araby" on his own experiences as an adolescent resident of
Dublin in 1894, when Ireland was chafing under British rule. Like the fictional
narrator of "Araby," Joyce lived on North Richmond Street (No. 17) in the
central part of the city. And like the narrator, he was undergoing a period
of self-discovery. However, unlike the narrator of "Araby," Joyce was not
an orphan........In
"Araby" and other stories in Dubliners, Joyce presents Dublin as
a bleak city struggling against oppressive forces. Winter scenes of boys
at play take place near the dead end of North Richmond Street and in nearby
lanes, as indicated in the first and third paragraphs. The climactic scene
takes place in South Dublin, across the River Liffey from central Dublin,
at a bazaar in a large building. Such a bazaar—billed as “Araby: a Grand
Oriental Fête” (or as “A Grand Oriental Fête: Araby in Dublin”)
was actually held in Dublin between May 14 and May 19, 1894, to benefit
a local hospital.

Point
of View

.......An
adolescent boy narrates the story in first-person point of view. He does
not identify himself. But to readers familiar with the life and works of
Joyce, it becomes clear that he represents the author. Joyce based characters,
places, and events in the story on recollections from his boyhood, although
he altered reality from time to time. For example, Joyce was not an orphan,
as is the narrator.

Characters

Narrator: Boy of about
twelve who becomes infatuated with the sister of his friend, Mangan. Although
she hardly notices him and converses with him only once, he fantasizes
about her and tells her he will buy her a gift if he attends a bazaar called
Araby. He seems to regard her as noble and pure of heart, like a maiden
in a tale of chivalry. His trip to the bazaar to find her the gift then
becomes something of a knight's quest on behalf of his lady fair. Mangan:
Boy about the same age as the narrator. He is a companion and neighbor
of the narrator. Other Neighbor Boys:
Companions of the narrator.Mangan's Sister:
Girl to whom the narrator is attracted. Narrator's Uncle, Aunt:
Relatives who are rearing the narrator. The uncle, a drinker, addresses
the narrator as "boy" (paragraph 14), suggesting that he is not close to
his nephew.Mrs. Mercer: Widow
of a pawnbroker. She visits the narrator's home to collect used stamps
to support what the narrator terms "a pious cause."Schoolmaster: Narrator's
teacher.Stall Attendant:
Young Englishwoman who sells vases, tea sets, and similar wares at the
Araby bazaar. To the narrator, the fact that she is English diminishes
the Middle Eastern atmosphere of the Araby bazaar. Two Englishmen: Young
men with whom the stall attendant flirts. Dubliners: Pedestrians,
shop boys, laborers, drunks.Porters at Train StationAttendant at Bazaar Turnstile

........The
year is 1894. The place is North Richmond Street in Ireland's largest city,
Dublin. The street dead-ends at an empty house of two stories, says the
unidentified narrator, a boy of about twelve who lives on the street with
his uncle and aunt. A priest was once a tenant in the house they occupy.
After he died, the narrator explored his quarters. He reports that

Air, musty from
having been long enclosed, hung in all the rooms, and the waste room behind
the kitchen was littered with old useless papers. Among these I found a
few paper-covered books, the pages of which were curled and damp: The
Abbot, by Walter Scott, The Devout Communicant,
and The Memoirs of Vidocq. I liked the last
best because its leaves were yellow.

.......The
narrator says the priest was a good man, for he bequeathed his money to
institutions and his furniture to his sister. .......In
winter, the narrator and his friends, including a boy named Mangan,
play in the street and in the muddy lanes along and behind the houses.
If the narrator's uncle turns into the street, everyone hides until he
enters his house. If Mangan's sister comes out and calls her brother to
tea, everyone keeps in the shadows. If she stands there and waits, the
boys reveal themselves and Mangan answers her call. The narrator always
observes her closely, for he is strongly attracted to her even though he
hardly knows her........On
school mornings, he waits for her to come out, then grabs his school books
and follows her until their paths diverge. She is constantly in his thoughts
even though they had never had a conversation. One rainy evening in the
kitchen of the priest's empty quarters, he presses his hands together as
if to pray and says, “O love! O love!”.......Finally,
a
day comes when she speaks to him. She asks whether he is going to the
Araby
bazaar Saturday evening, noting that she herself wants to go but cannot
because she must attend a retreat scheduled at her
convent. He tells her that if he goes to the bazaar, he will bring back
something for her........During
the next several days, having received permission from his aunt to attend
the event, all he can think about is the bazaar and Mangan's sister. On
Saturday morning, he reminds his uncle that he will be attending the bazaar
that evening. The uncle, who is in the hallway looking for a hat brush,
curtly replies, "Yes, boy, I know.".......After
the narrator returns from school, he sits downstairs staring at a clock,
waiting for his uncle to come home and give him money for the bazaar. Irritated
by the ticking of the clock, he goes to the highest part of the dwelling
and looks out at the Mangan girl's house while neighbor boys are playing
in the street. For fully an hour, he stands there thinking of her, imagining
he sees her in front of her house—her curved neck, her dress, her hand
on the railing........When
he returns downstairs, his uncle has still not returned home. But Mrs.
Mercer is there sitting at the fire. She is a pawnbroker's widow who collects
used stamps for a charitable cause. She is also waiting for the narrator's
uncle, but the narrator does not say why. It may be that the uncle owes
her money or has promised to give her stamps. While dinner awaits his return,
Mrs. Mercer gossips with the narrator's aunt over tea. Just after eight
o'clock, Mrs. Mercer says she can wait no longer and leaves........“I'm
afraid you may put off your bazaar for this night of Our Lord,” the narrator's
aunt says. .......At
nine, the narrator hears his uncle come through the door. He is talking
to himself, which means he has been drinking. When the narrator asks him
for money for the bazaar, the uncle says people are going to bed by this
time. But the aunt presses him on behalf of the boy. The uncle then gives
the boy a florin and asks him whether he has heard
of "The Arab's Farewell to His Steed." In a hurry,
the boy leaves while the uncle prepares to recite the first few lines of
the poem to his wife. .......The
narrator takes an empty third-class train across the river to the site
of the bazaar. When he walks down the street to the bazaar building, it
is nearing ten o'clock. He pays his way and walks through a turnstile only
to discover that most of the stalls are already closed. In front of a curtain
at one stall, Cafe Chantant, two men are counting money.
When the narrator finds a stall that is still open, he goes inside and
looks over a display of tea sets and porcelain vases. .......A
young lady is talking with two gentlemen. All have English accents. She
comes over and asks the narrator whether he wishes to make a purchase.
Her tone is perfunctory; she exhibits little enthusiasm. “No, thank you,”
he says. He lingers a moment, then walks away. The lights of the gallery
in the upper part of the building go out. Of this moment, the narrator
tells the reader:.......“Gazing
up into the darkness I saw myself as a creature driven and derided by vanity;
and my eyes burned with anguish and anger.” ..

.

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..

Joyce,
Religion, and "Araby"

.......James
Joyce grew up a Catholic and attended Clongowes boarding school, operated
by
priests of the
Society of Jesus, or Jesuits. But his father's heavy drinking and incompetence
in home finances plunged the family into debt. Consequently, Joyce had
to withdraw from school and return home, where he kept up his studies with
the help of his mother. Two years later, Jesuits at Belvedere
school admitted Joyce free of charge. He flourished academically, rising
to the top of his class. .......At
University
College in Dublin, also run by the Jesuits, he received an excellent
education in languages and participated in literary activities. By this
time, however, Joyce had renounced Catholicism, mainly because of its unbending
rules and strict enforcement of them. In his stories, he repeatedly accuses
the Catholic Church of oppressing and debilitating Ireland. He also frequently
mocks the church, its clergy, and its rituals even though Jesuit priests
generously provided him an education at a crucial time in his life. .......In
Araby, Joyce presents the church from two perspectives: that of the young
narrator—who is a practicing Catholic, as Joyce was in his youth—and that
of the irreligious adult author. The following sentences from the second
paragraph exhibit this double perspective.

The former tenant
of our house, a priest, had died in the back drawing-room. Air, musty from
having been long enclosed, hung in all the rooms, and the waste room behind
the kitchen was littered with old useless papers . . . He had been a very
charitable priest; in his will he had left all his money to institutions
and the furniture of his house to his sister.

Here, the boy attaches no special
meaning to the condition of the room or the “useless papers.” Nor does
he look down on the priest, for he notes that he had been a charitable
man. However, it appears that the author himself—in looking back on his
adolescence—intended the musty air and the useless papers to suggest that
the church was an outdated institution with effete rules and doctrines.
Like the priest, it would die. As to the generosity of the priest, Joyce
seems to be raising the question of why he had money and property in the
first place. .......One
may argue that Joyce felt conscience-bound to criticize the Catholic Church
in "Araby" and other short stories, as well as in novels such as Ulysses.
But his unfair generalizations about the church and the mean spirit in
which he delivers his criticism bring into question the reliability and
objectivity of his criticism.

Conflicts

.......The
narrator contends with environmental forces that inhibit and oppress him
and other Dubliners. These forces include adverse economic, social, and
cultural conditions arising from British dominance of Ireland. He also
struggles against lustful feelings toward the Mangan girl, feelings that
his religion tells him he must control. These feelings are most obvious
in the following sentence at the end of the sixth paragraph: "All my senses
seemed to desire to veil themselves and, feeling that I was about to slip
from them, I pressed the palms of my hands together until they trembled,
murmuring: `O love! O love!' many times."..

Theme

Awakening to the Humdrum
Life of Dublin

.......The
working-class street on which the narrator resides is a dead end, suggesting
that he and his friends are going nowhere. They will grow up to live in
the same dreary Dublin, with its dreary weather, dreary people, and dreary
houses. In the third paragraph, the narrator describes the depressing atmosphere:

.......When
we met in the street the houses had grown sombre. The space of sky above
us was the colour of ever-changing violet and towards it the lamps of the
street lifted their feeble lanterns. The cold air stung us and we played
till our bodies glowed. Our shouts echoed in the silent street. The career
of our play brought us through the dark muddy lanes behind the houses,
where we ran the gantlet of the rough tribes from the cottages, to the
back doors of the dark dripping gardens where odours arose from the ashpits,
to the dark odorous stables . . . .

.......Nevertheless,
the narrator bears up. He has friends, keeps active, and nurtures a dream:
to win the attentions of the Mangan girl. After she speaks to him one day
about the Araby bazaar, his spirits soar; he can think of nothing but her
and of the gift he will buy her at the bazaar. For him, she is an exotic,
lovely creature, foreign to Dublin. And the bazaar—Araby, as it is called—represents
a distant, mystical land to which he will travel on behalf of his beloved
to obtain for her a splendid keepsake. He is like a knight planning a quest. .......But
when he goes to the bazaar late one Saturday evening, the third-class train
he rides to the site of the bazaar, the nearly empty bazaar hall, the English
accents of the saleswoman and her men friends all disillusion him. In this
moment, he suddenly awakens to the bleakness of the humdrum life around
him.

Foresahdowing

.......As
a young adult Joyce turned hostile toward Roman Catholicism and its clergy,
believing that they had been a negative influence on Ireland over the years.
Consequently, he makes the priest (paragraph 2) part of the dreary, decaying
Dublin environment. .......One
may interpret his depiction of the priest as a foreshadowing of what will
happen to the youthful narrator. Consider, for example, that the priest
in his youth was probably hopeful and optimistic, like the narrator. After
he was ordained, he may have attempted to maintain the ebullience of his
youth and reaffirm the importance of religion by reading the books mentioned
in the second paragraph of "Araby." However, he eventually awakened to
the bleakness of life around him and to the barrenness of religion, as
Joyce would have the reader believe. His backyard garden—a sort of Eden,
complete with an apple tree—then began decomposing, reflecting the destruction
of the priest's idealism. There is a rusty bicycle pump in the garden,
suggesting the deflation of his vicarious travels........The
priest's experience thus foreshadows the awakening of the narrator from
his dreamy adolescent idealism to the harsh reality of Dublin life. ..

Glossary
of Allusions, Symbols, and Terms

The
Abbot: Novel by Sir Walter Scott (1771-1832). Its central character
is Roland Graeme, a young man reared by relatives (like the Araby narrator).
Graeme becomes involved in romance and adventure, as the narrator of "Araby"
dreams of doing after meeting Mangan's sister and then going on a knightly
"quest" to the bazaar. "The
Arab's Farewell to His Steed": Alternate title for "An Arab's Farewell
to His Horse," a popular poem by the English writer and social reformer
Caroline Norton (1808-1877), granddaughter of the famed Irish-born British
playwright Richard Brinsley Sheridan. "In Araby," the narrator's uncle
is about to recite the opening lines of the poem when the boy leaves for
the Araby bazaar. Here is the first stanza of the poem:

At the
end of the poem, the former owner returns the money and reclaims the horse.Araby:
Name of a bazaar (“Araby: a Grand Oriental Fête”) held in
Dublin May 14-19, 1894, to benefit a local hospital. In Joyce's short story,
the young narrator views Araby as a symbol of the mystique and allure of
the Middle East. When he crosses the river to attend the bazaar and purchase
a gift for the Mangan girl, it is as if he is crossing into a foreign land,
like a knight-errant, on a mission on behalf of his lady fair. But his
trip to the bazaar disappoints and disillusions him, awakening him to the
harsh reality of life around him. Ashpits: Perhaps
symbols of the hellish life of many Dubliners. Blind Street: Street
that dead-ends. In the story and in real life, Dublin's North Richmond
Street is a dead end, as Joyce points out in the first four words of "Araby"—perhaps
to suggest that the boys playing on it are going nowhere. They will grow
up to live in the same dreary Dublin, with its dreary weather, dreary people,
and dreary houses. In the third paragraph, the narrator describes the depressing
atmosphere:

When we met in the
street the houses had grown sombre. The space of sky above us was the colour
of ever-changing violet and towards it the lamps of the street lifted their
feeble lanterns. The cold air stung us and we played till our bodies glowed.
Our shouts echoed in the silent street. The career of our play brought
us through the dark muddy lanes behind the houses, where we ran the gantlet
of the rough tribes from the cottages, to the back doors of the dark dripping
gardens where odours arose from the ashpits, to the dark odorous stables
. . . .

Brown: Color that Joyce
uses in "Araby" to draw attention to the plainness and dreariness of Dublin.
(See the first paragraph.) He also uses it to describe the figure of the
Mangan girl, for she conjured up for him images of the Middle East, in
particular the people of Arabia. But after he attends the bazaar, he no
doubt begins to associate the brownness of her figure with the dreary brownness
of Dublin. Café
Chantant: In Europe, a café in which singers, dancers, and other
entertainers performed for patrons. Sometimes bawdy performances were featured.
In "Araby," the presence of a café chantant at the Grand Oriental
Fête suggests that the bazaar is actually less than grand.Devout
Communicant: Abbreviation of a book title. The full title is The
Devout Communicant, or Pious Meditations and Aspirations for the Three
Days Before and Three Days After Receiving the Holy Eucharist. The
author was Pacificus Baker (1695-1774), an English Franciscan priest. Joyce
mentions the book in "Araby" perhaps as a hint that the narrator equates
his attraction to the Mangan girl to a religious experience. Mention of
the book also obliquely foreshadows the narrator's trip to the bazaar to
obtain a gift for the girl—a trip that to him is a like a quest for the
Holy Grail. Empty House: Two-story
dwelling at the end of North Richmond Street. Joyce mentions it perhaps
to suggest an empty future awaiting the boys playing on the street.Gantlet: Military
punishment in which an offender was forced to run between two lines of
men who beat him with clubs when he passed. Garden of the Priest:
Garden of Eden, from which the priest and his religion emerged to labor
in a less-than-perfect world.Mangan:
James Mangan (1803-1849), whom Joyce read and wrote about. Mangan adopted
a middle name, Clarence, when he was a teenager. Mangan wrote poetry on
romantic and patriotic themes, notably poems supporting Irish nationalism.
He also translated poetry from German and other languages, including Ireland's
Celtic language (sometimes referred to as Irish Gaelic). Some of his translations
include his own original writing, and some of his original poems are presented
as translations from Oriental languages. By giving the name Mangan to the
girl with whom the young "Araby" narrator is infatuated, Joyce links her
with an author who sometimes wrote about exotic eastern locales—in other
words Araby.O'Donovan Rossa:
Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa (1831-1915), a revolutionary who worked to overthrow
British rule in Ireland. Florin:
British coin worth two shillings. Circulation of it began in 1849 and continued
until 1971. In the late nineteenth century, the coin bore the image of
Queen Victoria on one side. The florin was a bitter reminder to the Irish
that they were under British rule.Retreat:
In Roman Catholicism, a period of seclusion for praying, meditating, receiving
advice, and discovering ways to improve one's moral life.Salver: Tray. Spike: Perhaps a
phallic symbol. Joyce uses the word in the ninth paragraph. Here is the
paragraph:

.......While
she spoke she turned a silver bracelet round and round her wrist. She could
not go, she said, because there would be a retreat that week in her convent.
Her brother and two other boys were fighting for their caps, and I was
alone at the railings. She held one of the spikes, bowing her head towards
me. The light from the lamp opposite our door caught the white curve of
her neck, lit up her hair that rested there and, falling, lit up the hand
upon the railing. At fell over one side of her dress and caught the white
border of a petticoat, just visible as she stood at ease.

Westland
Row Station: Train station in South Dublin. Today it is known as Pearse
Station. Vidocq,
Eugène François: Celebrated French adventurer. Between
his adolescence and age twenty, he was a thief, traveling entertainer,
duelist, prison inmate, prison escapee, soldier, and forger. After later
being imprisoned again, he spied on inmates for the police. When he was
thirty-six, he founded a police unit in Paris that later became the national
security police, or Sûreté Nationale. He left police work
in 1827 to operate a paper mill, but the business failed. He went back
to work for the police as a detective but in 1832 was accused of theft
and fired. He then founded a detective agency. He was an acquaintance of
great writers, including Balzac and Victor Hugo, and served as a model
for many fictional characters. He wrote his memoirs with the assistance
of other writers. Entitled Mémoires de Vidocq, chef de la police
de Sûreté, jusqu'en 1827, it became a best seller. The
reference to Vidocq in "Araby" appears to suggest that the dead priest
had escaped from the austerity of his clerical life and the drabness of
Dublin by reading about the adventuresome Vidocq. The reference also foreshadows
the young narrator's "escape" across the river to the Araby bazaar. ..

Climax

.......The
climax occurs when the narrator, disillusioned by what he finds at the
bazaar, realizes that life in Dublin is humdrum and that the Mangan girl
probably has no romantic interest in him. Belief that she was attracted
to him was a result of his vanity, he believes.

Figures
of Speech

.......Following
are examples of figures of speech in "Araby."

Alliteration

Paragraph 3:
the back
doors of the dark
dripping
gardens Paragraph 5: Her
name sprang to my lips
at moments in strange prayers
and praises which I myself
did not understand. Paragraph 25: girded
at half its height
by a gallery.

Irony

When the Araby bazaar
darkens, the narrator "sees the light," realizing that his perception of
reality has been distorted.

Metaphor

Paragraph 3:
shook music from the buckled harness (comparison of music to an object
that can be shaken from something) Paragraph 5: the
shrill litanies of shop-boys (comparison of the cries of the shop boys
to a repetitive prayer)

Personification

Paragraph 1:
The other houses of the street, conscious of decent lives within them,
gazed at one another with brown imperturbable faces (comparison of houses
to persons)Paragraph 6: All
my senses seemed to desire to veil themselves (comparison of senses to
persons)

Simile

Paragraph 5:
But my body was like a harp and her words and gestures were like fingers
running upon the wires. (Comparison of body to a harp and of words and
gestures to fingers)

Study
Questions and Essay Topics

1...Write
an essay that speculates on what the narrator's life will be like when
he is in his early thirties. 2...Write
a short psychological profile of the narrator. Support your views with
passages from the story and quotations from scholarly works that analyze
the story..3...In
what ways did British rule of Ireland affect the everyday life of the Irish
people?4...Are
the coachman and horse (paragraph 3) symbols of Britain and Ireland, respectively?5...What
are "the troubles in our native land"? (Paragraph 5).

..

ArabyBy James JoyceComplete Text

.......North
Richmond Street, being blind, was a quiet street except at the hour when
the Christian Brothers' School set the boys free. An uninhabited house
of two storeys stood at the blind end, detached from its neighbours in
a square ground. The other houses of the street, conscious of decent lives
within them, gazed at one another with brown imperturbable faces........The
former tenant of our house, a priest, had died in the back drawing-room.
Air, musty from having been long enclosed, hung in all the rooms, and the
waste room behind the kitchen was littered with old useless papers. Among
these I found a few paper-covered books, the pages of which were curled
and damp: The Abbot, by Walter Scott, The Devout Communicant,
and The Memoirs of Vidocq. I liked the last best because its leaves
were yellow. The wild garden behind the house contained a central apple-tree
and a few straggling bushes, under one of which I found the late tenant's
rusty bicycle-pump. He had been a very charitable priest; in his will he
had left all his money to institutions and the furniture of his house to
his sister. .......When
the short days of winter came, dusk fell before we had well eaten our dinners.
When we met in the street the houses had grown sombre. The space of sky
above us was the colour of ever-changing violet and towards it the lamps
of the street lifted their feeble lanterns. The cold air stung us and we
played till our bodies glowed. Our shouts echoed in the silent street.
The career of our play brought us through the dark muddy lanes behind the
houses, where we ran the gantlet of the rough tribes from the cottages,
to the back doors of the dark dripping gardens where odours arose from
the ashpits, to the dark odorous stables where a coachman smoothed and
combed the horse or shook music from the buckled harness. When we returned
to the street, light from the kitchen windows had filled the areas. If
my uncle was seen turning the corner, we hid in the shadow until we had
seen him safely housed. Or if Mangan's sister came out on the doorstep
to call her brother in to his tea, we watched her from our shadow peer
up and down the street. We waited to see whether she would remain or go
in and, if she remained, we left our shadow and walked up to Mangan's steps
resignedly. She was waiting for us, her figure defined by the light from
the half-opened door. Her brother always teased her before he obeyed, and
I stood by the railings looking at her. Her dress swung as she moved her
body, and the soft rope of her hair tossed from side to side........Every
morning I lay on the floor in the front parlour watching her door. The
blind was pulled down to within an inch of the sash so that I could not
be seen. When she came out on the doorstep my heart leaped. I ran to the
hall, seized my books and followed her. I kept her brown figure always
in my eye and, when we came near the point at which our ways diverged,
I quickened my pace and passed her. This happened morning after morning.
I had never spoken to her, except for a few casual words, and yet her name
was like a summons to all my foolish blood. .......Her
image accompanied me even in places the most hostile to romance. On Saturday
evenings when my aunt went marketing I had to go to carry some of the parcels.
We walked through the flaring streets, jostled by drunken men and bargaining
women, amid the curses of labourers, the shrill litanies of shop-boys who
stood on guard by the barrels of pigs' cheeks, the nasal chanting of street-singers,
who sang a come-all-you about O'Donovan Rossa, or a ballad about the troubles
in our native land. These noises converged in a single sensation of life
for me: I imagined that I bore my chalice safely through a throng of foes.
Her name sprang to my lips at moments in strange prayers and praises which
I myself did not understand. My eyes were often full of tears (I could
not tell why) and at times a flood from my heart seemed to pour itself
out into my bosom. I thought little of the future. I did not know whether
I would ever speak to her or not or, if I spoke to her, how I could tell
her of my confused adoration. But my body was like a harp and her words
and gestures were like fingers running upon the wires........One
evening I went into the back drawing-room in which the priest had died.
It was a dark rainy evening and there was no sound in the house. Through
one of the broken panes I heard the rain impinge upon the earth, the fine
incessant needles of water playing in the sodden beds. Some distant lamp
or lighted window gleamed below me. I was thankful that I could see so
little. All my senses seemed to desire to veil themselves and, feeling
that I was about to slip from them, I pressed the palms of my hands together
until they trembled, murmuring: `O love! O love!' many times........At
last she spoke to me. When she addressed the first words to me I was so
confused that I did not know what to answer. She asked me was I going to
Araby. I forgot whether I answered yes or no. It would be a splendid bazaar;
she said she would love to go. ......."And
why can't you?" I asked........While
she spoke she turned a silver bracelet round and round her wrist. She could
not go, she said, because there would be a retreat that week in her convent.
Her brother and two other boys were fighting for their caps, and I was
alone at the railings. She held one of the spikes, bowing her head towards
me. The light from the lamp opposite our door caught the white curve of
her neck, lit up her hair that rested there and, falling, lit up the hand
upon the railing. At fell over one side of her dress and caught the white
border of a petticoat, just visible as she stood at ease........"It's
well for you," she said........"If
I go," I said, "I will bring you something.".......What
innumerable follies laid waste my waking and sleeping thoughts after that
evening! I wished to annihilate the tedious intervening days. I chafed
against the work of school. At night in my bedroom and by day in the classroom
her image came between me and the page I strove to read. The syllables
of the word Araby were called to me through the silence in which my soul
luxuriated and cast an Eastern enchantment over me. I asked for leave to
go to the bazaar on Saturday night. My aunt was surprised, and hoped it
was not some Freemason affair. I answered few questions in class. I watched
my master's face pass from amiability to sternness; he hoped I was not
beginning to idle. I could not call my wandering thoughts together. I had
hardly any patience with the serious work of life which, now that it stood
between me and my desire, seemed to me child's play, ugly monotonous child's
play........On
Saturday morning I reminded my uncle that I wished to go to the bazaar
in the evening. He was fussing at the hallstand, looking for the hat-brush,
and answered me curtly:......."Yes,
boy, I know.".......As
he was in the hall I could not go into the front parlour and lie at the
window. I left the house in bad humour and walked slowly towards the school.
The air was pitilessly raw and already my heart misgave me........When
I came home to dinner my uncle had not yet been home. Still it was early.
I sat staring at the clock for some time and, when its ticking began to
irritate me, I left the room. I mounted the staircase and gained the upper
part of the house. The high, cold, empty, gloomy rooms liberated me and
I went from room to room singing. From the front window I saw my companions
playing below in the street. Their cries reached me weakened and indistinct
and, leaning my forehead against the cool glass, I looked over at the dark
house where she lived. I may have stood there for an hour, seeing nothing
but the brown-clad figure cast by my imagination, touched discreetly by
the lamplight at the curved neck, at the hand upon the railings and at
the border below the dress........When
I came downstairs again I found Mrs Mercer sitting at the fire. She was
an old, garrulous woman, a pawnbroker's widow, who collected used stamps
for some pious purpose. I had to endure the gossip of the tea-table. The
meal was prolonged beyond an hour and still my uncle did not come. Mrs
Mercer stood up to go: she was sorry she couldn't wait any longer, but
it was after eight o'clock and she did not like to be out late, as the
night air was bad for her. When she had gone I began to walk up and down
the room, clenching my fists. My aunt said:......."I'm
afraid you may put off your bazaar for this night of Our Lord.".......At
nine o'clock I heard my uncle's latchkey in the hall door. I heard him
talking to himself and heard the hallstand rocking when it had received
the weight of his overcoat. I could interpret these signs. When he was
midway through his dinner I asked him to give me the money to go to the
bazaar. He had forgotten. ......."The
people are in bed and after their first sleep now," he said........I
did not smile. My aunt said to him energetically:......."Can't
you give him the money and let him go? You've kept him late enough as it
is.".......My
uncle said he was very sorry he had forgotten. He said he believed in the
old saying: All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. He asked me where
I was going and, when I told him a second time, he asked me did I know
"The Arab's Farewell to his Steed." When I left the kitchen he was about
to recite the opening lines of the piece to my aunt........I
held a florin tightly in my hand as I strode down Buckingham Street towards
the station. The sight of the streets thronged with buyers and glaring
with gas recalled to me the purpose of my journey. I took my seat in a
third-class carriage of a deserted train. After an intolerable delay the
train moved out of the station slowly. It crept onward among ruinous houses
and over the twinkling river. At Westland Row Station a crowd of people
pressed to the carriage doors; but the porters moved them back, saying
that it was a special train for the bazaar. I remained alone in the bare
carriage. In a few minutes the train drew up beside an improvised wooden
platform. I passed out on to the road and saw by the lighted dial of a
clock that it was ten minutes to ten. In front of me was a large building
which displayed the magical name........I
could not find any sixpenny entrance and, fearing that the bazaar would
be closed, I passed in quickly through a turnstile, handing a shilling
to a weary-looking man. I found myself in a big hall girded at half its
height by a gallery. Nearly all the stalls were closed and the greater
part of the hall was in darkness. I recognized a silence like that which
pervades a church after a service. I walked into the centre of the bazaar
timidly. A few people were gathered about the stalls which were still open.
Before a curtain, over which the words Café Chantant were written
in coloured lamps, two men were counting money on a salver. I listened
to the fall of the coins........Remembering
with difficulty why I had come, I went over to one of the stalls and examined
porcelain vases and flowered tea-sets. At the door of the stall a young
lady was talking and laughing with two young gentlemen. I remarked their
English accents and listened vaguely to their conversation........"O,
I never said such a thing!"......."O,
but you did!"......."O,
but I didn't!"......."Didn't
she say that?"......."Yes.
I heard her."......."O,
there's a... fib!".......Observing
me, the young lady came over and asked me did I wish to buy anything. The
tone of her voice was not encouraging; she seemed to have spoken to me
out of a sense of duty. I looked humbly at the great jars that stood like
eastern guards at either side of the dark entrance to the stall and murmured:......."No,
thank you.".......The
young lady changed the position of one of the vases and went back to the
two young men. They began to talk of the same subject. Once or twice the
young lady glanced at me over her shoulder........I
lingered before her stall, though I knew my stay was useless, to make my
interest in her wares seem the more real. Then I turned away slowly and
walked down the middle of the bazaar. I allowed the two pennies to fall
against the sixpence in my pocket. I heard a voice call from one end of
the gallery that the light was out. The upper part of the hall was now
completely dark........Gazing
up into the darkness I saw myself as a creature driven and derided by vanity;
and my eyes burned with anguish and anger.